


0143

by Buttons15



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-18 21:21:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttons15/pseuds/Buttons15
Summary: Something was distinctly wrong with Amelie - the night terrors were getting worse, and for the last few days, her biological clock had decided to wake her in the middle of the night. She needed help. Ashe was determined to make sure she got it.Trigger warning.





	0143

The first thing she saw when she woke up were the city lights outside the window. In the past, she knew, “The city that never sleeps” was a title held exclusively by New York; that was then, before omnics showed up on their lives. Machines as they were, they quickly changed many aspects of day to day lives, one of which being that _they_ , unlike humans, didn’t need sleep at all. And so all cities were like that: as busy in the day as they were at night.

Amelie let her gaze wander over the cars that moved below her, until the shining reds and yellows blurred together. She could, if she tried, read a text on the phone of a pedestrian from ten floors up, and she could count the coins on someone’s hand from that distance even in the dark. Right then, however, Amelie didn’t really want to see, and so she deliberately tried to not focus on anything.

The sense of dread didn’t leave her chest, not really, and she knew it wouldn’t anytime soon, but at least the world stopped spinning when she finally managed to control her breathing. There was a digital clock on the bed stand, and she turned to look at it even though she didn’t need to.

**0152**

She felt her pupils contract at the light, too bright for her night vision, and so she closed her eyes and swallowed. Nine minutes - that was how much it took her to calm down, and she knew that because she also knew exactly when she’d woken. Amelie had been waking up at exactly forty-three past one for the last week, which she would have deemed a strange coincidence or an oddly precise, talon-modified biological clock, except…

She placed a hand over her chest and felt her heart drum faster than usual. The sameness of the cities made the process of waking up from a night terror marginally less disorienting, but Amelie still felt her stomach twist and turn. She reached out for the glass of water she kept next to the alarm clock, but her hands were still trembling and she knocked it over instead.

Cursing, she sat up, recoiling when her feet touched the wet floor beneath them, and now her hard work was undone and she was hyperventilating again, white spots popping into existence in her vision. The sense of dread struck her again like a moving train, and she felt - she felt -

“Amelie?” the door was thrown open. “You okay?”

 _Disorienting_ , she thought, looking up at the source of the voice. She couldn’t recognize the face. She reached out for the light switch, out of some misguided habit, realizing her mistake one second too late when the lights turned on and blinded her.

“Ame -”   

The person grabbed her on the shoulder. She screamed.

“Amelie, god damn it!”

She was struggling, she knew, but felt unable to stop it, her hands moving of their own accord to push and scratch, her legs kicking. Her eyes should adjust faster than a normal person’s to things like light and distance, but instead her vision flickered in and out of focus so all she could make out were flashes of limbs and clothes and something metallic which could have been a gun.

Amelie was tackled by the torso and into the bed. She wasn’t sure how long it took to subdue her, but it must have been long, because by the time the other was on top of her, they were both panting, and she could see sweat rolling down the woman’s face, a face she _still_ couldn’t recognize -

“Are you done?”

The voice. The eyes. The hair, _ashen_ \- it all clicked into place at once, and she used all the strength she could muster to push her off and bend down. She emptied the contents of her stomach on the floor, spitting out the bitter taste of bile.

“I’m sorry,” Amelie mumbled when she found her voice again, skin sticky with cold sweat. “I don’t - don’t know what got over me.”

“Yeah,” Ashe rubbed her back. “That’s okay. Come. Let’s get you to a shower.”

Amelie let herself be led, layouts of the room unfamiliar to her. She didn’t bother undressing before getting in the shower, the water as always warm, a sense of wrongness clinging to her like her wet nightgown stuck to her skin.

 

* * *

 

The sun was already high up when she woke the next morning, and she checked the clock to find it was almost noon. Ashe had left her a note, and Amelie took a moment to appreciate how unexpectedly delicate and round the other’s cursive was. The note itself was short and straight to the point, much like Ashe herself, and read only “gone 4 food. pack up. we leave asap.”

Amelie didn’t have much to pack, and an idle mind was the devil’s workshop, so she had plenty of time to sit down and try to sort through the jumble that were her memories from the last few months. The basics came to her easily: her name was Amelie Lacroix, former talon sniper, former-former overwatch agent. That she could remember those things so promptly told her at least a month had passed since her last reconditioning.

Sure enough, whenever she tried to peek into her recent memories, the furthest back she could reach was walking into yet another session with O’Deorain, followed by the characteristic amnesia of little over five weeks. Those things she knew with precision, because information was power and keeping track of them made her feel marginally more in control of her own body.

When her sense of time and identity finally recovered enough to make memories, Amelie had found herself on the back of a deadlock gang hovercar, led by none other than their leader herself. She hadn’t asked any questions regarding where they were going or what the rush was, but Ashe never treated her as a prisoner and she had no recollection of any targets she was supposed to eliminate.

The thought filled her with anxiety.

As far as she knew, there was no one looking for her, or if there was, the Deadlock gang was more than enough to sidetrack them. This didn’t surprise her - Talon was a large yet chaotic operation, with various leaders scattered around the world who squabbled among themselves for power. The one in charge of her, she knew, was O’Deorain herself, and if she didn’t bother to search for Amelie then chances were no one would, particularly because the other leaders wanted nothing to do with the doctor’s _experiments_.

Her thoughts were cut short when the door opened to reveal Ashe, who promptly threw her a bag of something. Amelie intercepted it in the air, smirking with amusement when she opened it to find a croissant.  She took a few bites of it before speaking.

“Where to now?”

She waited for Ashe to swallow her own snack. “I’ve only tracked her as far as Iraq. I hope we don’t have to go into Oasis, but the road might lead us there.” Ashe sighed, looking out the window. “Hate big cities.” She paused, “And that’s the big city to top all big cities.”

Amelie finished her food and stared at her hands. Her first encounter with Deadlock gang had ended with her helping them rob a bank, followed by a night of drinking and partying to formally welcome her into the group she’d accidentally joined when she shot down a couple of guards. Very little time had passed from that to their current predicament, and as much of a sharpshooter as she was, she doubted she was worth _that_ much effort.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, crumpling the paper napkin she’d used to hold the croissant into a ball.

Ashe didn’t turn to her, instead shoving whatever scarce belongings she had into what seemed like a freshly-stolen backpack. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t have to help me out. I started -” She hesitated, searched for the right word. “I started _malfunctioning_ less than a month after you took me in. I doubt I’ve worked enough to pay for this.”

The other shrugged. “Gang’s like family to me. Wouldn’t be family if I let one of ours to rot. Gotta set the right example for the boys.”

“Is that all?” Amelie juggled the paper ball from one hand to the other.

There was a long moment of silence. Amelie watched her closely, searching for anything in her body language that could give away extra information and maybe, just maybe, explain the growing sense of _wrongness_ she couldn’t get rid of.

“For the Deadlock to get the room it has to grow, it had to strike a lot of deals. _I_ had to strike a lot of deals. We needed peace with the other gangs so we could properly expand…and we’ve expanded a lot, across the country and even internationally.” Ashe half-turned to her, strands of white hair partially covering her face. “I have business with Los Muertos. I owe them big time. I was told to accommodate you, so I am.”

 _Sombra,_ she thought, and then couldn’t hold back the humorless laughter bubbling up on her chest. “Of course.”

She could almost picture the quirky half smile the hacker would have given her, followed by a cryptical _I always pay my debts, araña._ She’d protected Sombra from Talon once, not out of generosity but because she knew some people were worth doing favors for. There was a certain joy in being proved right.

Ashe mumbled something unintelligible. Amelie turned to her. “ _Pardon?_ ”

“I said that ain’t the whole deal,” the other repeated.

“Oh?”

“It ain’t right, what they did to you. Makes me uncomfortable as a… person. And as a woman. Even I got some principles, yeah?”  They made eye contact for a split second, but Ashe immediately looked away. “Keep your word. Punish betrayal. That’s what I tell the boys. But between you and I? I know what it feels like, to be trapped in a position you never asked for. Perhaps less than you do - hell, _surely_ less than you do, but enough to empathize anyway.”

Amelie stared at her hands once more, and with a single smooth movement, she tossed the paper ball. It fell straight into the trash can she’d aimed for.  Ashe’s eyes followed the projectile’s movement in the air, then turned to her.

“Besides, you _are_ a real good shot,” the cowgirl finished with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

**0143**

She sat up in bed, heart hammering so hard it hurt, and immediately regretted her decision when her vision blacked out. This was immediately followed by a strong wave of confusion as her senses registered all at once in a jumbled and incoherent mess that didn’t help her locate herself. The silence registered first, the deafening silence - and then the darkness. _Where,_ she tried to say, but what came out were barely grunts. There was a feeling in the back of her head that she was missing something, and if she could only _remember_ -

She stood, bolted out of the room, unable to keep still. The corridors were unfamiliar and she kicked down doors, looking for something she couldn’t quite name, until she happened upon the bathroom door and something else caught her eye - a mirror. She froze in place, walked closer and stared at her own reflection.

Her skin crawled with gooseflesh. There was something about it, something she couldn’t quite pin down, something odd and misplaced and _wrong_ , and Amelie felt if only she looked hard enough then perhaps - perhaps - she reached out to touch the cool surface of the glass. The person in the mirror smirked at her.

Amelie screamed.

There was blood in her hands suddenly, blood and shards of glass from a now shattered mirror and still she stared at the hundreds of fragments, and still the reflection showed her a maniac grin and an empty gaze. Amelie struck again, crushing the slivers under her bare feet, pain barely registering, over and over while her mind played a single thought on a loop.

_Was this what I looked like?_

“Amelie what the _fuck -_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

She stared off into the distance, wincing every once in a while when Ashe plucked another fragment of glass from her skin. Usually she would have protested against this - would have made a point to stitch herself up. Amelie refused to show vulnerability, let alone to people who were barely more than strangers.

Yet she felt so very tired. _It’s getting worse, isn’t it,_ she wanted to ask. She chose silence instead - silence and acceptance.

“Need to find you your doctor,” Ashe muttered, wiping her knuckles clean with a ball of cotton. “Do you no good to wake up like that.”

There were deep rings under her eyes, Amelie noticed. The realization made a twinge of something - guilt, maybe - squeeze at her chest. Burning pain shot up her arm when Ashe rubbed alcohol on her cuts, but she didn’t flinch.

“It always at the same time, too,” the other continued. “Kinda eerie. Maybe I should set an alarm clock or something.” She paused, looked up at Amelie and held her gaze. “Maybe we should just start sleeping on the same bed, so I wake up when you do.”

“No,” she growled reflexively before she could hold herself back.

“Oi, it ain’t like I’m gonna try something you don’t want,” Ashe snapped. “I’m an outlaw but I’m not a monster, damn it. Those are the only kinda boundaries I respect.”

“No!” She hissed, and then regretted it immediately. _That’s not what I meant,_ she tried to say, but barely managed to stutter out the first few syllables.

Ashe arched an eyebrow at her. She took a deep breath. Silence grew thick between them, and Amelie let the other work on her right hand, and then her feet.  They were well supplied in medical equipment, at least, and Ashe was unsurprisingly skilled at wrapping her up with bandages.

Amelie took the moment to drink in the sight of her and all her bizarre fashion choices: a hat and cowboy clothes, complete with spurred boots and a belt with a huge buckle. She’d found that ridiculous in Jesse, but right then, staring at it, she decided there was something oddly candid about the anachronism - a constant reminder that the two, Jesse and Ashe, were barely children when they started, playing with costumes and guns.

She looked a little like a mummy by the end. A mummy and a cowgirl - the thought was so bizarre and out of place she burst out laughing - and then crying.  Ashe didn’t offer her words of comfort at the sight, which Amelie found strangely relieving.

“The last person who slept next to me ended up dead,” She spat out. She expected the words to rile up any kind of emotion in her. Instead, she only felt numb.

“Oh hell. You’re right. That’s terrifying.”

Amelie frowned, looking for a hint of irony in the unexpectedly sincere reply. When she found none, she scoffed. She flexed her fingers, a dull ache coming from the stretched skin.

“My offer still stands,” Ashe said, putting away the first aid kit.

“Oh? You’re not scared you’d wake up with my hands at your throat?”

“Kinky,” she muttered, then grinned. “And yea. Terrified. But I ain’t no coward, and I ain’t defenseless either. And I love a girl who looks like she could ruin my life. So, what do you say? Little spoon or big spoon?”

“You’re an idiot,” she replied, but her tone lacked any real bite. She stared at the bandages around her hands, something cold gripping at her heart whenever she thought of the alien smiling face in the mirror. “...okay. But no spooning.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re sure this doctor of yours can fix you,” Ashe asked for the umpteenth time, and Amelie rolled her eyes.

“No. But she and O’Deorain worked together for a while, and if anyone has even a remote chance of figuring out what the fuck is wrong with me, it’s her.”

“Right. And you certain she gonna help you just like that? No catch whatsoever?”

She paused for a second. The thought of Angela Ziegler refusing a patient was so ludicrous she snorted. “As opposed to you and I, there are genuinely good people in this planet. She’s one of them. Self-important and egotistical, but a good person nonetheless. She won’t turn me down.”

“How do people like that even live?”

“By inspiring people like us to protect them,” she replied, looking out the window. The train sped through fast enough that even she had trouble making out anything other than a blur from the landscape. They were riding first class, each of them more than rich enough to afford it, and Ashe had ordered a remarkably expensive meal, with equally fancy wine to match it.

She entertained herself by watching the other have lunch, her own meal already in her stomach. There was very little Talon authorized her to eat, and though she had spent her weeks at Deadlock purposefully chasing after new flavors, she doubted a life-or-death mission was the right occasion to try out exotic seafood.

Ashe, of course, begged to differ.

Amelie carefully tracked her movements, then smiled.

“Whatcha grinning at,” Ashe queried, mouth still full.

“Fish knife.” She stated.

“Fish knife?” the other looked at the utensil in question. “What about it?”

Amelie pointed to the carefully picked fish bones on the side of the plate. “You know how to use a fish knife.”

Ashe’s eyes widened, her expression showing the surprise of a child who had been caught with her hand on the pot of cookies. She burst out laughing, put down the cutlery and rested her chin on her palm. “Oh. Oh, you got me.”

“Inner rich kid was showing,” she teased. “Next thing you know you’ll be sticking your pinky out when you hold the glass.”

“The horror,” Ashe took a sip of her wine, then shook her head. “Etiquette lessons were a pain most of the time, but I did pick up some useful skills from them. I bet I could strip an entire chicken to its bones with a fork and a knife.”

“You can use your hands to hold chicken if it has bones in it,” Amelie pointed out. “Pre-war etiquette dictated that was only allowed at informal dinners, but the starvation induced by the omnic war made wasting the meat stuck to the bone something frowned upon even among the rich.”

Ashe laughed again, and Amelie began to wonder just how strong that wine was. She considered taking a sip, but decided against it. At least one of them had to be marginally competent in the occasion they needed to shoot people.

“What else did you do?” She asked, taking the opportunity to learn more about the other. “Horse riding? French? Piano?”

“Acoustic guitar, actually,” she replied. “French, yeah. _Oui. Deutsch auch._ Been too long though. Barely remember anything other than the curse words.” Another sip of wine. “No horse riding. Only thing I was riding was - never mind.” She giggled. “Cooking. I can cook pretty well. Shooting, of course, that was mandatory in any post-war private school. Micro and macroeconomics. Track and field. Oratory. You know, the whole package.”

“I did ballet.”

“I know.” Ashe held her gaze from across the table. “I saw you dance, once. You were good.”

It was Amelie’s turn to go full deer-in-headlights. Throwing caution to the wind, she reached out and drunk wine straight from the bottle. Ashe chuckled, then grabbed it from her hands and finished the drink.

“You should get back to it. Dancing, I mean.”

She turned back to the window, intently focused on the orange blurs of sand. “Maybe.” A pause. The thought brought too many emotions to her, none of which she felt ready to deal with. She shifted the focus of the conversation instead. “Why did you leave?”

“What, the rich kid life?” Amelie could hear the mockery in her tone. “I didn’t, not really. I don't have any... delusions that I've lost my status, not when I am surrounded every day by people whose only shot at basic human dignity is crime. I merely exchanged one privilege for another - I’m still rich, just by different… more illegal, but arguably less imoral means. All I left behind was the stupid… masquerade.”

“Mmh.”

“Not sure you’d understand.” Amelie turned to her, arched an eyebrow in question. Ashe shrugged. “You looked fit for that life, back then. Me, I was always a stranger. Parents were ashamed of me and everything.”

“Because of your… condition?”

“Cause of the albinism, yeah.” Ashe tapped her fingers on the table. “I couldn’t go out in the sun at all for the longest while - not until they fixed the ozone-layer hole the omnics opened over my side of the country. We considered moving even, but my parents were never around anyway so I don’t really saw the point. I just spent a lot of my time indoors.”

“What happened to your eyes?”

“What about ‘em?”

“They’re red.” Amelie turned to face her.

“Yeah. I’m _albino_.” Amelie picked up on the little things - the way her fingers stopped moving, the way her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. She’d been trained to tell when people lied, and by then it was nearly second nature. She still had to take a moment to think about it though.

“That’s not right,” she finally pinpointed. “Human albinos have blue eyes.”

“Hah!” She smirked. “Got me again. I was born blind, or nearly so. Cross-eyed, low vision, trembling eyes, the whole deal. Had them replaced.” She tapped her forehead with her index finger. “Custom job. Badass distance and speed sensors and night vision. Don’t tell anyone, though. I like people thinking my shooting is just natural talent.”

“So is mine,” she winked. “No tech assistance here at all.”

Ashe scoffed. “So we’re not that different, you and I, see? Except… I had a bit more of a say in how my life went than you did.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that, so she didn’t answer. Ashe licked the tip of her index and middle fingers, then ran them over the rim of the crystal glass, bringing out a single note. Amelie winced at the sound.

“Do you have any ideas about what’s next?”

“Next - god you’re _such_ a fidget.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Ashe stopped torturing the glass and stood still for a whole ten seconds before subconsciously beginning to tap her foot. “Next, you know. Once the doc fixes you.”

For that, too, she lacked an answer. She _had_ thought about it before - for so many nights she’d entertained the thought of what she’d do once she finally got her freedom. Yet the closer she felt to it, the more she wondered whether that was really it - despite everything, it felt too easy, and too _wrong_.

And then she squished that line of thought at its root, because for all she knew, she was dying, and there was no guarantee that she would find Ziegler in time or even that the doctor would be willing and able to help at all.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. _Maybe I’ll get back to dancing after all,_ she thought, but the idea was far too painful to be put into words. “We’ll see.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
